Batman: Cold Summer Nights
by backbreakingmetal
Summary: Batman hunts Gotham to try to stop a rampaging Mr. Freeze, who is killing numerous underworld bosses with no seeming purpose, but is there more to this than what there seems to be?
1. Cold Happenings

The summer's night was warm and thick with humidity. Gotham City sat like a bright beacon, its towers of steel and glass reflecting the lights below high into the moon lit sky. The heat wave had passed, but the summer was still strong with sweltering heat and there were no signs of it breaking. The Friday night was filled with the sounds of traffic and people enjoying the beginning of the weekend. But high above their heads, deep in the shadows that stretched out across Gotham's numerous rooftops, a figure moved silently, but with a purpose.

Batman leapt off another roof top, firing his grapple gun and pulling himself even higher into the night, his cape silhouetted by the full moon hanging overhead in the star-free sky. Landing on the radio antenna of a building, Batman stood motionless, looking out over his city. He had spent the last three nights trying to find the trail of the Joker. Joker had escaped from police custody, killing three officers in the process and sending two more to the hospital. Batman knew the Joker had no money, no weapons, and no gang, which made him even more dangerous because he could not predict what the clown was going to do. All his usual sources had run dry, now he simply had to wait until something happened. But until then he would keep hunting; searching for a lunatic roaming free in his city hoping to catch him before the Joker could kill again.

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Franky 'Dix' Dixon sat at the table in his bar, shuffling the deck of cards in front of him. The bar was packed with the normal assortment of characters; robbers, murderers, gangsters, hookers, you name it, you could probably find them there. Dix had grown up in the Northside of Gotham, growing up on the streets. From a young age, Dix had learned that the easiest way to get something was to simply take it. And that is what he had done. At sixteen, he knifed the leader of his gang in the back, taking control of the small gang, quickly turning them into one of the more powerful street gangs in the Northside. It wasn't long before Dix moved into the drug trade, cutting into the large pie that was Gotham's addiction to any manner of things. With the proper planning and certain deals of a number of other men in similar positions throughout Gotham, Dix had become what everyone in his bar knew to be a major player.

"Dix, you gonna deal or what?"

Dix smiled as the man sitting across from him, guzzling from his glass of cheap beer. Nolan Polanski was one of Gotham P.D.'s 'finest', apart from the fact he was crooked as a snake. Dix had been paying Polanski off for months and in card games, he usually won back most of the money he paid him. Dix was already up six hundred on the fat man.

"Whatever you say, Detective."

The other two men at the table laughed as Dix started to deal the cards out. The entire bar suddenly was in a commotion as the front door to the bar suddenly exploded inward. The crowd in the bar immediately all jumped to their feet expecting a squad of police to come rushing in. Dix leapt to his feet, looking at Polanski.

"What the fuck, Polanski?"

"There was nothing scheduled! I swear!"

The commotion in the bar grew even louder, before they were silenced by a loud, monotone voice that echoed across the entire bar.

"Franklin Dixon."

The crowd immediately separated, revealing to Dix the source of the voice. It was not the police, nor was it a man dressed as a giant bat. Instead stood a man a good seven feet tall, his body encased in what looked to Dix as some futuristic suit of armor. A clear bubble of plexiglass covered the head of the white skinned man, the white eyes of the man staring straight forward at Dix. Polanski literally fell out of his chair, shoving himself backwards. Dix put on a calm face, straightening his tie.

"Only two people ever called me Franklin. My momma and my preacher. And you ain't either, tin man."

"No."

Victor Fries, known to the world as Mr. Freeze stood facing Dix, his emotionless face unmoving as he spoke to the gangster.

"Then what the hell you want?"

Polanski stood up, pulling out his badge and revolver, holding the gun on Freeze as he brandished his badge.

"Victor Fries, Gotham Police! Put your hands in the---"

Polanski was cut off as Freeze lifted his cold gun, firing it. The ray of pure blue slammed into Polanski, immediately covering his body in ice. Dix stumbled back, looking at Polanski's frozen face of horror, then looked at Freeze.

"Get him!!!"

Two mobsters ran up behind Freeze, but Freeze spun around, sending them both flying backwards with a sweeping backhand. The bar was in a frenzy as people began pouring towards any exit they could get to. Another thug ran up, slamming a pool cue into Freeze, the cue splintering from the force of the shot. Freeze simply turned, grabbing the thug by the neck and snapping it. Freeze was suddenly pushed backwards as a shotgun blast impacted into his chest. Freeze was unfazed, stepping forward once again as the mobster ran forward to fire point blank into Freeze, but Freeze's hand shot forward grabbing and crushing the barrel of the shotgun as the mobster pulled the trigger. The gun exploded in the thugs hands, tearing apart his face and arms. Freeze tossed the barrel of the shot gun to the ground and walked forward, flipping tables out of the way as if they were made of cardboard and firing his freeze gun at anyone pulling a gun or running towards him. Dix stumbled backwards, pulling a pistol out from under his jacket and firing wildly at Freeze. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off of Freeze's cold suit as Freeze lifted his gun again, firing it. Dix screamed in pain as his hand was instantly encased in a block off ice, frozen to the wall behind him.

"What the fuck do you want?!?"

Freeze's eyes just stared at him coldly as he raised his gun at Dix.

"Something you cannot give me."

Dix started to scream, but was cut off as the gun discharged. Freeze released the trigger and stared at the frozen statue of Dix, his free hand held outstretched as he tried to ward off the impeding cold that encased him. Freeze simply stepped forward, driving his boot into Dix, shattering the statue into pieces. Freeze turned his head, hearing the distant sounds of police sirens, then simply turned to the back wall of the bar, firing his freeze gun. The brick wall was frozen solid in an instant and Freeze stepped forward, punching through the wall off ice and sending the wall exploding outward. Stepping out into the alley behind the bar, Freeze walked into the darkness, disappearing into Gotham's shadows.


	2. An Investigation and a Breakout

Jim Gordon parked his car, leaning his head back against his head rest as he rubbed his hand across the two days worth of unshaven beard growth on his chin. The heat of summer always seemed to bring out the absolute worst in Gotham and this summer was proving to be no different. He had just parked in his driveway when his cell phone went off in his jacket pocket. Gordon had taken a good six rings to finally decide to answer the phone. He at least was able to go inside his house, kiss his sleeping wife on the cheek and grab a cup of day old coffee from his kitchen before he was back out the door and back on the road heading to this crime scene.

Climbing out of his car, Gordon looked around the packed city street, lit up by flood lights and the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers and ambulances. The entire area was taped off with crime scene tape and a few uniforms moved through the crowd of onlookers checking to see if anyone had seen or heard anything. Gordon had worked long enough to know that in this part of town, no one ever heard or saw anything. Clipping his badge onto the front of his jacket, he walked through the throng of reporters, ignoring the questions thrown his way as he ducked under the crime scene tape. The Night Shade was a bar owned by Franky Dixon, one of the city's biggest and most powerful drug lords. Major Crimes had been trying for months to get clearance to put wire taps into the bar, but Franky had too many friends that he fed out of his cookie jar.

"Commissioner."

A female detective walked up to Gordon, who nodded a hello in her direction.

"Detective Walls. So what do we have this time?"

"Something you really need to see, sir."

Gordon followed Walls to the bar, immediately noticing that the front doors to the bar had literally been ripped off their hinges, broken inward into the bar. Stepping into the bar, Gordon immediately knew something was wrong when the temperature dropped a good ten to fifteen degrees as he walked through the broken entrance. The floor was coated in a layer of water and, along with the occasional dead body on the floor, giant blocks of what looked like ice were scattered throughout the bar. Gordon got that feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had long ago grown accustomed to the second he moved closer to one of the melt blocks of ice and saw that a pale skinned hand was sticking out from the cold ice, hanging limply.

"Current count is at twelve. A lot of the ice is starting to thaw, so we should be able to identify most of the victims soon."

Gordon listened to Walls continue to run through the normal routine of things as he stepped to another block in front of him wiping away the coating melting water from it, immediately seeing the barrel of a gun and one other thing being held out in front of the dead form encased within the ice. A police shield. Walls looked up from her notebook, letting off a slight yelp. Gordon raised an eyebrow and turned to look, coming upon the shadow standing behind him.

"Figured you'd get here sooner rather than later."

Waller shook her head.

"How did you get in here?"

Gordon chuckled slightly as he turned to face Batman, who didn't even acknowledge the young Detective behind him.

"He does that a lot. Detective Walls, why don't you give us a minute."

Walls nodded, walking away but keeping her eyes fixed on Batman, who stood staring at the frozen bodies throughout the room. Gordon turned to look at his old friend.

"You know, I think there is some part of you that enjoys scaring my detectives."

Batman ignored the comment, leaning forward and rubbing his gloved hand across the ice block in front of him.

"Detective Nolan Polanski."

Gordon leaned in close, focusing through his glasses on the figure.

"That son of a bitch."

Gordon let off a sigh, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"So do I even need to guess at who did this?"

"Freeze."

Batman stood up, turning to face Gordon.

"I figured he would show back up in Gotham since his wife slipped back into a coma. But this isn't like him."

"I was kinda hoping he would have stayed disappeared. We already have the Joker running loose in the city, now we have him. Have you learned anything more on that psychopathic clown?"

"No."

Gordon just shrugged, walking forward in the bar, suddenly stopping as ice crushed under his feet. Lifting his foot up, Gordon saw the ice was tinted dark red and was oozing off his boot.

"What the?"

"It's Dixon."

Gordon stepped back, making sure not to step on any more pieces of a body on his way.

"I'll try to see what my lab techs can tell me about what went on here, but I got to tell you…"

Gordon turned to see Batman was already gone.

"…yeah."

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Blackgate Penitentiary stood two miles out in Gotham Bay, built upon jagged rocks and concrete. The massive structure stood high into the air, a lighthouse beacon arcing around the stone edifice warning ships to stay far away. In the distance, the bright lights of Gotham City could be seen, but within the walls of the prison, the lights simply illuminated the gray and black stone, making the place look even drearier. Within the walls of the prison were six buildings, each housing numerous criminals from across Gotham and the rest of the United States who were deemed too dangerous for any prison but Blackgate.

"I must once again voice my protest at this, Mr. Keller."

Assistant District Attorney Adrian Keller stood at the control panel, tying a series of keys. He turned his head to look at Warden Dennis Samuels, his voice dripping with distain.

"Noted, Warden Samuels, but still irrelevant."

A prison guard standing behind a counter looked up from his screen to Keller.

"Hand print and voice signature verification needed, Mr. Keller."

A flat electronic panel immerged from the wall in front of Keller. Placing his hand on the panel, Keller spoke his name. With a beep the massive steel doors in front of Keller and Samuels unlocked and slid open slowly, spilling bright white light onto the two men. Keller, flanked by a squad of SWAT officers began walking down the corridor, Samuels close behind Keller.

"This is a bad idea, Keller. This man is incredibly dangerous."

Keller spun, looking down at Samuels.

"That thinking is exactly why a man like him ended up in a place like this. Waylon Jones is incredibly misunderstood and when I took my office, I promised that everyone would get a fair chance. Jones doesn't belong in Blackgate, Samuels. That is why I am personally overseeing the transfer of him from this prison to Arkham Asylum where he can be rehabilitated in an environment that will help him."

Samuels stared at Keller as if he had just been slapped in the face.

"This is a mistake, Keller."

"That's Mr. Keller, Samuels. And don't you forget it."

Keller didn't even wait for a response as he turned and continued walking. The corridor had doors on each side, spaced ten feet apart. In front of each door stood two armed guards, shotguns at the ready. Keller moved to one such door, pausing.

"Open the door."

The two guards looked at each other, and then one turned, reaching to the key card hanging from his bulletproof vest. Swiping the card, the door let off a small beep, pushing itself inward, and then sliding to the side. The room was incredibly dark, illuminated only by the white light of the corridor. The SWAT team moved into the room, their assault rifles aimed at the shadowy figure sitting on a stool in the center of the room. Keller walked in to the cell, completely unfazed.

"Good evening, Mr. Jones."

"Jones?"

The voice was deep and menacing, almost a growl. The figure sat up in the stool causing the chains wrapped around his entire upper body to rattle. Keller looked at the man, seeing the red eyes that stared back at him. The man was covered, not in skin, but a thick hide of scales. His mouth curves into a wide grin, revealing his razor sharp teeth.

"Haven't been called that in a long time."

Standing up, the chains keeping him bolted to the floor strained taunt against the strength of the man. The SWAT team immediately lifted their gun, covering the man in red dots from their laser sights. With a laugh the man looked around at the SWAT team, sniffing the air.

"Everyone's just so scared…"

The red eyes shifted to Keller, sizing him up.

"…except for you."

"Because I know I have nothing to fear. I know you are just a sick man in need of care."

The room echoed with the laughter coming from the man. Samuels stepped back into the corridor, looking at Keller.

"Keller, I hope you know what you're doing. Because if that man gets free again, it will all be on your head."

"I can see myself out, Samuels."

Samuels turned and walked down the corridor as Keller looked at his men.

"Unchain him from the floor."

Two of the men moved in, unlatching the chains from the floor. Keller stepped back, moving out of the way as the man stepped out of the cell and into the light of the corridor.

With a groan, Killer Croc shifted his head around and cracked his neck, then smiled. Looking down at the two men guarding his cell, Croc grinned at them.

"Later boys."

Both men just stared at him as he turned and started walking down the corridor, three SWAT officers in front of him, guns trained on his head and five behind him. Keller walked behind the group as they left the cell block, moving to the docks, where a large transport boat sat moored, its engine running idle. Croc glanced at the water lapping at the bottom of the dock, but knew he'd be shot long before he hit the water. Stepping into the transport, Croc moved below deck to a cell within the transport, sitting down inside as the SWAT team closed the door. All but three of the team moved up to the top deck of the boat as is pulled away from the dock of Blackgate, moving off into the black waters Gotham Bay. Croc leaned his head back against the steel reinforced hull of the transport, his red eyes staring at Keller.

"So where to now, suit?"

"Arkham Asylum. Were you can be rehabilitated in the right environment."

"Arkham, eh? Good...I like the chilli there."

Croc let off another laugh as the boat rumbled through the waves of the Bay. Keller moved behind the three SWAT officers who kept their guns trained on Croc and leaned against the hull of the boat, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. A smile suddenly crossed Keller's face and almost immediately the echo of gunfire from the top deck filled the air. The SWAT officers all spun, but two off them dropped instantly as Keller grabbed their heads, smashing them together with an incredible strength. The two dead officers fell to the floor of the boat as the other officer spun, firing his assault rifle into Keller. Keller absorbed the bullets, moving forward and grabbing the officer's head, spinning it around and snapping his neck so hard, the man's head had made a 180-degree turn on his shoulders. Dropping the dead body, Keller patted his hands together as two of the SWAT officers from above moved down the stairs to him.

"We took care of the rest of them."

Keller looked at them.

"Good. Now get us outta here."

Keller's voice had changed. It was no longer the Harvard educated, high class voice that Keller had used to perfection in courtrooms for years. It instead was gargled and deep, a New York accent with lungs that were filled with liquid cement. Both men nodded and moved back up the stairs. Croc snorted as he looked at the dead SWAT officers on the floor in front of his cell, and then looked up at the man standing in front of him.

"So I take it we're not headed to Arkham."

Keller reached out grabbing the cell door, ripping it open easily.

"My boss has a proposition for you."


End file.
